Some days are just metaphors for the rest of my life. This day screamed at me, reminded me just how much I’d like a little less contrast, a little more unity in my life.
At present, I do not have medical insurance, and as such, am receiving what basic medical coverage I can scratch up through the county. It’s loads of fun, but they help cover my medications, ridiculously expensive, otherwise.
I should feel lucky, and mostly I do, but I don’t have to like it. Any visit to the med clinic is a dark, edgy visit to a cacophonous world of chaos, standing in lines, loud conversations, phones ringing, muttering, shuffling, shouting, slamming, anger, sadness, sickness, frustration. There are security guards and paroles, high-fives, ghetto jive, sad stories told too loud, too much–way too much. And, if you are me, it seeps in and sticks inside my head, like a sea sponge, and hard to dispell.
Today, I waited 45 minutes for a prescription that wasn’t ready, with no apology other than wait in the next line–if you really want it that badly; “have a nice day”.
Another 20 minutes later, I had two pills, Celebrex, for my arthritis-migraines-fibromyalgia, or whatever anyone would like to call it, as no two doctors have managed to pin-point or agree upon what it is. I had TWO pills. The rest may or may not be ready tomorrow. Yay, me.
An hour later, I had a mammogram appointment at a medical plaza far, far away, in beautiful new building, landscaped, no graffiti, no loitering, no noise. There was a parking attendant, carpet in the hallways, flowers in the waiting room, the soft murmur of HGTV on the widescreen television–not Jerry Springer blaring on the tube.
There were current magazines–Golf, Oprah, Yoga, a pitcher of ice water, coffee, cream, sugar, stir sticks. I sank into the waiting room like it was a mammoth marshmallow and took a deep, relieving breath.
Soon, I was personally received for my appointment. The woman was so kind I nearly wept. There was a dressing room, more carpet, dim lighting, a clothes locker, a soft cotton wrap, more flowers, the scent of lavendar and absolute quiet in the corridors.
My appointment went fine. The x-ray technician was lovely, helpful, informative. And when it was over, I left without issue, floated through the clean, glass partitioned doors and out to my car, neatly waiting in the impeccable parking garage.
Tomorrow, I have to go back to the med clinic and pick up the other 28 tablets of prescription. I will remember my headphones, keep my eyes averted and remember to breathe. I will pretend there is carpet under my feet and concern in the air.